Youth and the opening rose

May look like things too glorious for decay, And smile at thee-but thou art not of those That wait the ripened bloom to seize their prey.

Leaves have their time to fall,

And flowers to wither at the north-wind's breath, And stars to set-but all,

Thou hast all seasons for thine own, oh! Death.

We know when moons shall wane, When summer-birds from far shall cross the sea, When autumn's hue shall tinge the golden grain

But who shall teach us when to look for thee?

Is it when Spring's first gale
Comes forth to whisper where the violets lie?
Is it when roses in our paths grow pale ?—
They have one season-all are ours to die!

Thou art where billows foam,
Thou art where music melts upon the air;
Thou art around us in our peaceful home,
And the world calls us forth-and thou art there.

Thou art where friend meets friend, Beneath the shadow of the elm to rest

Thou art where foe meets foe, and trumpets rend The skies, and swords beat down the princely

crest.

Leaves have their time to fall, And flowers to wither at the north-wind's breath, And stars to set-but all,

Thou hast all seasons for thine own, oh! Death.

CHRIST STILLING THE TEMPEST.

"But the ship was now in the midst of the sea, tossed with waves; for the wind was contrary." St. Matthew, xiv. 24.

FEAR was within the tossing bark,
When stormy winds grew loud;
And waves came rolling high and dark,
And the tall mast was bowed.

And men stood breathless in their dread,
And baffled in their skill-

But One was there, who rose and said
To the wild sea, "Be still!"

And the wind ceased-it ceased! that word
Passed through the gloomy sky;
The troubled billows knew their Lord,
And sank beneath his eye.

And slumber settled on the deep,
And silence on the blast,
As when the righteous falls asleep,
When death's fierce throes are past.

Thou that didst rule the angry hour,
And tame the tempest's mood-
Oh! send thy spirit forth in power
O'er our dark souls to brood!

They find the red cup-moss where they climb, And they chase the bee o'er the scented thyme; And the rocks where the heath-flower blooms they know

Lady, kind lady, oh! let me go."

"Content thee, boy! in my bower to dwell, Here are sweet sounds which thou lovest well; Flutes on the air in the stilly noon,

Harps which the wandering breezes tune;
And the silvery wood-note of many a bird,
Whose voice was ne'er in thy mountains heard."

My mother sings, at the twilight's fall,
A song of the hills far more sweet than all;
She sings it under our own green tree,
To the babe half slumbering on her knee
I dreamt last night of that music low-
Lady, kind lady! oh! let me go."

"Thy mother is gone from her cares to rest,
She hath taken the babe on her quiet breast;
Thou wouldst meet her footstep, my boy, no more,
Nor hear her song at the cabin aoor.
-Come thou with me to the vineyards nign,
And we'll pluck the grapes of the richest dye."

"Is my mother gone from her home away?
-But I know that my brothers are there at play.
I know they are gathering the fox-glove's bell,
Or the long fern leaves by the sparkling well,
Or they launch their boats where the bright
streams flow-

Lady, kind lady! oh! let me go."

'Fair child! thy brothers are wanderers now,
They sport no more on the mountain's brow,
They have left the fern by the spring's green side,
And the streams where the fairy barks were tried.
-Be thou at peace in thy brighter lot,
For thy cabin-home is a lonely spot."

"Are they gone, all gone from the sunny hill?
-But the bird and the blue-fly rove o'er it still,
And the red-deer bound in their gladness free,
And the turf is bent by the singing bee,
And the waters leap, and the fresh winds blow-
Lady, kind lady! oh! let me go."

Joy, when the soft air's glowing sigh Bears on the breath of Araby.

Oh! welcome are the winds that tell
A wanderer of the deep

Where far away the jasmines dwell,
And where the myrrh-trees weep!
Blessed, on the sounding surge and foam,
Are tidings of the citron's home!

The sailor at the helm they meet,
And hope his bosom stirs,
Upspringing, 'midst the waves to greet
The fair earth's messengers,

That woo him, from the mournful main,
Back to her glorious bowers again.

They woo him, whispering lovely tales
Of many a flowering glade

And fount's bright gleam in island-vales
Of golden-fruited shade ;
Across his lone ship's wake they bring
A vision and a glow of spring!

And oh ye masters of the lay!

Come not e'en thus your songs, That meet us on life's weary way

Amidst her toiling throngs? Yes! o'er the spirit thus they bear A current of celestial air!

Their power is from the brighter clime
That in our birth hath part,

Their tones are of the world which time
Sears not within the heart;
They tell us of the living light
In its green places ever bright.

They call us with a voice divine

Back to our early love, Our vows of youth at many a shrine Whence far and soon we rove: -Welcome, high thought and holy strain, That make us Truth's and Heaven's again!'

THE BREEZE FROM LAND.

"As when to them who sail Beyond the Cape of Hope, and now are past Mezambic, off at sea north-east winds blow Sabean odours from the spicy shore

Of Araby the Blest; with such delay

Well pleased they slack their course, and many a league,

Cheered with the grateful smell, old Ocean smiles." Paradise Lost.

Joy is upon the lonely seas,
When Indian forests pour

Forth to the billow and the breeze
Their fragrance from the shore;

BELSHAZZAR'S FEAST.

'Twas night in Babylon: yet many a beam, Of lamps far-glittering from her domes on high, Shone, brightly mingling in Euphrates' stream, With the clear stars of that Chaldean sky, Whose azure knows no cloud :-each whispered

sigh

Of the soft night-breeze through her terracebowers

Bore deepening tones of joy and melody, O'er an illumined wilderness of flowers; And the glad city's voice went up from all her

towers.

But prouder mirth was in the kingly hall, Where, 'midst adoring slaves, a gorgeous band

Written immediately after reading the "Remarks on the Character and Writings of Milton," in the Christian Examiner.

And nearer yet the trumpet's blast is swelling,
Loud, shrill, and savage, drowning every cry!
And lo! the spoiler in the regal dwelling,
Death bursting on the halls of revelry!
Ere on their brows one fragile rose-leaf die,
The sword hath raged through joy's devoted
train,

Ere one bright star be faded from the sky,
Red flames, like banners, wave from dome and
fane,

Weeps by her dead, supremely desolate!
She that beheld the nations at her gate,
Thronging in homage, shall be called no more!
Lady of kingdoms!-Who shall mourn her
fate?

Her guilt is full, her march of triumph o'er;-What widowed land shall now her widowhood deplore!

Sit thou in silence! Thou that wert enthroned On many waters! thou whose augurs read, The language of the planets, and disowned The mighty name it blazons!-Veil thy head, Daughter of Babylon! the sword is red From thy destroyers' harvest, and the yoke Is on thee, O most proud!-for thou hast said, "I am, and none beside !"-Th' Eternal spoke, Thy glory was a spoil, thine idol-gods were broke.

But go thou forth, O Israel! wake! rejoice! Be clothed with strength, as in thine ancient day!

Renew the sound of harps, th' exulting voice, The mirth of timbrels!-loose the chain, and

say

God hath redeemed his people !—from decay The silent and the trampled shall arise; -Awake; put on thy beautiful array, Oh long-forsaken Zion! to the skies Send up on every wind thy choral melodies!

Since last ye traversed the blue sea's foam?

"We have found a change, we have found a pall, And a gloom o'ershadowing the banquet's hall, And a mark on the floor as of life-drops spilt,Nought looks the same, save the nest we built." Oh! joyous birds, it hath still been so; Through the halls of kings doth the tempest go! But the huts of the hamlet lie still and deep, And the hills o'er their quiet a vigil keep. Say what have ye found in the peasant's cot, Since last ye parted from that sweet spot?

"A change we have found there-and many a change!

Faces and footsteps and all things strange!
Gone are the heads of the silvery hair,
And the young that were, have a brow of care,
And the place is hushed where the children
played,-

Nought looks the same, save the nest we made!"

Sad is your tale of the beautiful earth,
Birds that o'ersweep it in power and mirth!
Yet through the wastes of the trackless air,
Ye have a guide, and shall we despair?
Ye over desert and deep have passed,-
So may we reach our bright home at last!

BREATHINGS OF SPRING.

Thou giv'st me flowers, thou giv'st me songs ;-bring back

more,

City of God! shall pass the bridal train,
And the bright lamps their festive radiance pour,
And the triumphal hymns the joy of youth

restore !

THE BIRDS OF PASSAGE.

BIRDS, joyous birds of the wandering wing! Whence is it ye come with the flowers of spring? "We come from the shores of the green old

Nile,

From the land where the roses of Sharon smile,

WHAT wak'st thou, Spring ?-sweet voices in the woods,

And reed-like echoes, that have long been mute; Thou bringest back, to fill the solitudes, The lark's clear pipe, the cuckoo's viewless flute,

Whose tone seems breathing mournfulness or glee, Ev'n as our hearts may be.

And the leaves greet thee, Spring!-the joyous leaves,

Whose tremblings gladden many a copse and glade,

Where each young spray a rosy flush receives, When thy south-wind hath pierced the whis

pery shade,

And happy murmurs, running through the grass. Tell that thy footsteps pass.